


What Did I Do To Deserve You?

by Sam4265



Category: DCU
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-28
Updated: 2017-07-28
Packaged: 2018-12-07 23:09:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11633877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sam4265/pseuds/Sam4265
Summary: Bruce had always been told that meeting your soulmate was like something out of a dream. Movies and books glorified it, boasting couples so deeply in love that it was all anyone could think about. That magical perfect someone who whisked you away and made your life perfect. When Bruce met his soulmate, it was so heartbreaking that he faked his death, ran away for five years, and became Batman.Then they met again.





	What Did I Do To Deserve You?

Bruce had always been told that meeting your soulmate was like something out of a dream. Movies and books glorified it, boasting couples so deeply in love that it was all anyone could think about. That magical perfect someone who whisked you away and made your life perfect. Bruce himself had always believed those stories. It’s what had happened to his parents. They loved each other more than life itself, and Bruce’s own words just enforced the idea even more. His words sat in a neat little row along his ribcage, and in messy scrawl they read, ‘It’s okay Mr. Wayne, I’ve got you, you’re safe.’ 

Throughout his life, no matter what happened, Bruce always had those words. He always knew that he’d be safe, because the first thing his soulmate ever said to him would be words of protection. He was safe because his soulmate was going to keep him safe. When he was little he’d believed the words implicitly, but once he turned eight, everything had changed. His parents were murdered right in front of him, and it was the first time he'd really begun to doubt the validity of those words. 

Bruce’s life after the death of his parents was a series of messes and mishaps. Alfred did his best, and truly there was no one better, but Bruce was a nightmare. Between the fights, the parties, and the numerous scandals, it simply seemed that Bruce Wayne was irredeemable. He tried college, got into Harvard and MIT because despite the faults of his personal life he was a genius and he had unfathomable amounts of money. He tried Harvard for a year and MIT for another, but dropped out of both once he realized there was nothing they could teach him that he couldn’t teach himself. He went back to Gotham and found he couldn’t stand the direction his poor beloved city was going, but he just didn’t have a clue what to do about it. He’d graduated high school early, and so he was barely nineteen when he left MIT, a full life ahead of him, and he didn’t have a single clue what to do with it. 

He spent most of his time hopping between one meaningless gala and the next, the names of different charities swirling around him in a mass of words. Still the partying continued, because there was nothing more horrifying to Bruce than a dull life, and, through plenty of fault of his own he knew, he could find nothing to brighten it but endless drinking and debauchery. He hadn’t slept with quite as many people as the tabloids suggested, but he'd definitely slept with more than his fair share. Sometimes he could barely stand to look at himself. There he was, watching the man in the mirror dress himself for yet another gala where he didn’t know or care about the charity, or for that matter, the guests.

He was dressed in a tight charcoal suit, that curled luxuriously across his body, accentuating his assets. He tightened the bowtie against his throat, and smoothed down the lapels of his suit jacket. He turned to Alfred with bags under his eyes and exhaustion in every line of his body.

“How do I look, Alfred?” He asked. He’d been up all night at an after party for a friend’s birthday party. In all honesty, there wasn’t much Bruce hated more than being around hoards of people for hours on end, unfortunately one of those things he truly hated was being alone, and so he was in a bind. 

“Ravishing, sir,” Alfred said, though Bruce could hear the disapproval in his voice. If he’d had his way, Bruce would still be in college, not simultaneously watching as the company, and he himself, ran themselves into the ground. Bruce knew how to fix his stock and his company, but he was so perpetually exhausted he never had the motivation to do anything. He needed a vacation, a long one, and they both knew it. Sometimes Bruce fantasized about what it would be like if he could just disappear for a year, maybe two, if he could come back changed and people would believe it had been long enough to let him get away with it. 

“Thanks, Alfred. Can you bring the car around, please? And my date’s waiting in the kitchen, right?” 

Alfred nodded.

“Her name is Melissa, please do not forget it, I would hate to have to wash wine stains out of another one of your suits,” Alfred said, snark snaking through his voice. Bruce snorted.

“I’ll try,” he said. He followed Alfred out of his room and down the stairs, but they split off at the grand foyer so that Alfred could go get the car, and Bruce could go get his date. When he entered the kitchen he noticed immediately that Alfred must be punishing him somehow. The Melissa he’d chosen for this evening was dressed in a violently red skin tight dress and matching lipstick, with hair that fell in practiced ringlets, and she wore entirely too much makeup. She looked at him disdainfully, like being fashionably late was something she’d never heard of.

“Melissa, right?” She was a model from the North East, and Bruce found he could barely bring himself to even smile dashingly at her. It was getting harder and harder to fake enthusiasm for his dates. He never saw them again, and they always said something awful about him to the tabloids either way, so he’d begun to wonder why he was even trying at all. 

“Yes,” she said, her voice sliding into sleaze easier than the mob bosses that flitted through Gotham’s precincts. She raised an eyebrow at him silently, and remained in that position until he held his elbow out to her. He silently wondered if she’d freeze that way and he wouldn’t have to take her at all. 

She took his arm with a scoff and led them out of the kitchen and down the foyer. He opened the door for her and she glided through, bumping him out of the way. Bruce sighed and rubbed his eyes, then trailed out after her. Neither of them were under any illusions. They both knew she wasn’t going home with him at the end of the night. He was just a ticket into the pocket and pants of another wealthy man, someone older with less to live for. She was at least five years older than him, and had no interest in him; she thought he was a child, and despite the fact that Bruce hadn’t been a child for over a decade, he didn’t care to help her see differently.

Alfred opened the door for them, but only Bruce thanked him. He shut it with grace and just the slightest bit of sass, and walked around to the front, ready to drive them to the party. 

Few people had ever been in Wayne Manor, and none had made it past the kitchen. They all assumed Bruce’s house was chock full of maids and cooks, and other servants, so they were usually confused when they saw that Bruce’s butler was also his driver. Bruce had never and would never hire another staff member aside from Alfred. Alfred was his cook, his maid, his butler, his driver, his bodyguard, and most importantly, his friend, though some might say father. Alfred was everything to Bruce; there was not a single person left in the world that Bruce loved besides him. 

It was rather a sad truth, if Bruce did say so himself. 

They made quick time to the gala, thankfully, since the silence in the car quickly became suffocating. And when they arrived, Alfred opened the door to endless flashing lights, hounds of questions and requests, and the kind of people Bruce absolutely abhorred more than any other, reporters. Bruce loathed reporters, whether they were for the gossip rags, or the real newspapers, Bruce hated them. They never had anything nice to say about him, not that there was much nice to say to begin with. They called him more names than he’d been called in college, which was saying something, and they never hesitated to make his life hell. 

They thought he was shit, so they treated him like it.

The reporters snapping photos and shouting out questions outside the gala weren’t the real devils though, the true ones were through the double doors. Those were the smart ones, the ones who worked for real papers, and who people really listened to. Those were the ones who hated him the most. Truly hated, not love to hate, but truly hate. Bruce had never had a nice conversation with even one of them. Especially not the ones from cities outside Gotham, a few of which there always were at big galas like this. 

Bruce and Melissa glided through the red carpet, strong and superior. They flashed handsome smiles, and made lazy clueless eyes at the barrage of questions. They were practiced hands at this game, the both of them. 

Bruce led Melissa through the crowd and into the plaza, where they then made their way up the grand staircase to the gala. As they did, the sounds of clicks and flashes were replaced with the light breeziness of the calm elegant music floating down from the band up on stage. Only the fanciest gala’s had a band, and given Bruce's proclivity to being invited to such fancy parties, that meant that Bruce was biblically acquainted with more than a few bassists and trumpet players, though he wasn’t sure if that was necessarily something to be proud of. He and Melissa made the rounds together, shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries, before parking themselves at their assigned table. Bruce downed a glass of champagne, and Melissa scoffed at him.

“I’m going to go introduce myself to some new people,” she said primly. Bruce translated that to ‘I’m going to go look for a new sugar daddy,’ and nodded uncaringly. 

“Have fun,” he said in a bored tone. She scoffed and stalked off. Bruce didn’t know where Alfred had found her, she didn’t even bother pretending to think he was a novelty, she just outright disliked him. Bruce grabbed at another glass of champaign, and was halfway through it when he was bumped into by a massive gray lump. He spilled his champaign all down the front of his suit, and sighed. 

“Oh, sorry!” The lump said. Bruce rubbed the champagne out of his eyes. 

“No, it’s ok. It was going to happen eventually, and champaign’s easier to get out of cashmere than wine is,” he replied. The lump finally stood up, but only halfway, and stopped in a hunch. The man in front of Bruce was obviously not high society, which meant reporter, which meant Bruce was instantly on guard. Though he was taller than Bruce, he was also hunched over to alleviate his size and considerable bulk. He was young, probably close to Bruce’s age, probably right out of college. He’d need to be incredibly smart and good at his job to have made it to this gala at that age. Bruce wasn’t impressed though, he could never be impressed by vultures. 

“Clark Kent, Daily Planet,” dear god they utterly loathed Bruce there, “I was wondering if I could get a comment?” Clark Kent of the Daily Planet asked. Bruce raised an unimpressed eyebrow at him.

“Last time I gave a comment to the Daily Planet I was thoroughly crucified by all of Metropolis, and I was only sixteen then,” Bruce snipped. Clark’s lips thinned.

"Well I can assure you Mr. Wayne that I have no intention of 'crucifying you.' I would actually like to know how things have been going with the company. I hear it's been awhile since you last attended a meeting, and that the stock prices are currently at a record low. Care to comment?" Clark asked, and though he didn't look vindictive like most reporters did, Bruce still bristled at the question. This was a perfect example of why Bruce hated reporters. Just like this Kent man was now, they were obnoxious and superior, and asked all the wrong questions.

"I can’t imagine what trap you idiots have cooked up now. By that I mean that no, I will not be giving you a comment, Mr. Kent,” Bruce shoved the reporter out of his way, and stalked off toward the bathroom, completely ignoring Clark's look of disdain. Bruce burst through the door, and stalked down the long hallway to the bathroom. It was more like a lounge than anything else, with couches and tables before turning into a row of floor to ceiling stalls and marble sinks. Bruce made sure all the stalls were empty, before slapping his hands down against one of the sinks. He took a deep breath and forced himself to hold it together. He’d been unnecessarily rude to that reporter, he knew that. Just because last time he’d spoken to someone from the Daily Planet had ended badly didn’t mean this time would be the same. This poor guy could barely keep his shoulders up, Bruce should have given him the benefit of the doubt. He knew that, but the whole air of the gala was getting to him. He was incredibly tired and just so alone. He just wanted to go home and force Alfred to watch a movie with him, because despite how wonderful Alfred was at looking after him, he was still a butler, and knew how to make himself scarce even when Bruce didn’t want him to be. 

Bruce forced himself to stand up tall again, and stave off the impending panic attack. He was Bruce Wayne, he would not let himself crumble because of a stupid reporter and some bitter loneliness. He was better than that. 

Bruce walked out of the bathroom door and was immediately struck by how silent everything was. The band had gone quiet and the sound of guest chatter had ceased. The only time it was ever end remotely silent like this was if there was an announcement, a speech about the charity and the like. Bruce momentarily wondered if they were giving an announcement, but even if they were, Bruce would have heard the sound of the announcer's speech. Somehow he knew something was wrong. Some sixth sense he couldn't explain was nudging him, his alarm rising. He'd seen a lot of crime in his life; he'd been kidnapped more than once before, and had developed a keen sense of danger. Something was wrong, he could feel it. He made his way down the hall and peered through the crack in the door. Nobody was moving, but not everyone was sitting. No one was speaking either. Convinced, he backed away from the door, and pulled out his phone to dial 911. Even if it was premature, it was better to be safe than sorry, especially in Gotham.

“911, what is your emergency?” The operator asked.

“This is Bruce Wayne, I’m in the Gibbon’s Plaza at the Wayne Enterprises Gala; it’s being robbed,” he spoke softly and briskly. 

“Stay calm sir, we’re sending officer’s now.”

“Thank you,” Bruce said, and hung up. He stepped away from the door, and turned around, only to slam right into a man dressed in an impeccable black dress suit with a zebra mask hiding his face. 

“Where do you think you’re going, pretty thing?” He asked. He smacked Bruce across the face, dazing him, and grabbed his wrists in an iron grip.

“Come on,” he snarled, dragging Bruce through the doors. Bruce quickly scanned the room. There were seven men in total, each in a different animal mask. Six of them were standing around the room, watching the guests who were devoid of their jewelry and wallets, including the man holding Bruce, and one of them stood at the center of it all, machine gun in hand, a lion mask covering his face. 

“Hey, boss! Found this one in the hallway, I think he called the cops,” Zebra said. Lion turned to look at them, gun held lazily in his hand.

“Bring him here,” he snapped. Zebra shoved Bruce across the room until he was standing right in front of Lion, who tilted his head in consideration.

“You look familiar,” he said, grabbing Bruce’s face with thick bruising fingers. Bruce didn’t bother to struggle, it would get him nowhere. 

“Oh, you’re Bruce Wayne,” Lion said suddenly. “Just the man we came here to see. Boyle, hold him for me, would you?” 

Zebra nodded, “Yes boss,” he said, wrenching Bruce’s arms tight behind his back. 

“You’re prettier in person,” Lion said, examining him. “Though, I guess that’s to be expected. So here’s the deal, you give me whatever’s on you, and you wire me a million, or we kill everyone in here.” 

It was a no brainer for Bruce. In fact it was such an easy decision for him that it was almost boring. They were the most unoriginal robbers he'd ever seen. His money wasn’t worth more than these people, even if they were mostly loathsome. 

“Where do I sign?” He asked quietly, his cheeks burning, stomach churning with nerves. 

“Oh,” Lion sighed. “A man after my own heart. Almost makes this too easy. Boyle, search him.”

Zebra patted Bruce down, pulling out his wallet and phone, and removing his watch and cufflinks. None of it would give them much, there wasn’t even a card in the wallet. Lion pulled out his own phone and began sorting out the wire transfer, but before he could get any farther the sound of sirens wailed through the windows, and blue and red began to flash across the darkened ballroom. Bruce swallowed a smile. Lion sighed.

“You did call the cops, didn’t you?” he asked. Bruce said nothing. “That’s too bad, I like you Mr. Wayne. You’d look great on my mantle, but sadly, if there is one thing I simply cannot take, it’s a whistle blower.” Lion looked up at Zebra. “Boyle, window.” 

Zebra stuttered, “But boss-“

“Window!” Lion roared. How fitting. Zebra nodded without another word. 

“Yes, boss.” He grabbed Bruce tighter, and Bruce began to struggle, understanding all too well what Lion had meant. 

“Let me go!” He snarled. Zebra just picked him up, and carried him kicking and screaming over his shoulder. None of the other guests made a move to help. When Bruce and Zebra passed Melissa, she looked carefully away from them.

“Let me go!” Bruce shouted again. Suddenly they were at the window and Bruce’s eyes grew to the size of saucers.

“No, no, n-!” He was thrown straight through the window, and screamed as he fell. All he could see was the navy of the night sky, and the tall forbidding Gotham skyscrapers that filled it. Bruce screamed, life flashing before his eyes. Alfred, oh god, Alfred would be devastated. Another Wayne falling to their death at the hands of Gotham’s worst. Down and down Bruce fell, until suddenly he wasn’t falling anymore. Strong hands found their way under his knees and around his back. His descent slowed to a stop, and then quickly he began to ascend. 

“It’s okay Mr. Wayne,” Superman said, “I’ve got you, you’re safe.” 

The words jarred Bruce to his very core. The bottom dropped out of his stomach, and his jaw dropped in awe.

“Oh my god, it’s you, and you’re Superman,” Bruce said, shock and delight clear in his voice. His stomach filled with butterflies as Superman stared down at him, completely and utterly dumbstruck.

“You’re my-“ But before Bruce could finish, the reached the window he’d been thrown out of and Superman deposited him quickly on the floor, dropped him really, if Bruce were being honest, but it wasn’t like there was no reason to hurry. Bruce stood carefully, his legs were practically jell-o, and watched as Superman, his soulmate, threw the animal masked men into walls, crushed machine guns with his bare hands, the bullets bouncing listlessly off his iron chest. He knocked each of them out with a single controlled punch, tying them together with the drawstring of the stage curtains. He snatched the bag of stolen goods from an unconscious Lion, and handed it to an older lady sitting by him.

“Here you go, ma’am,” he said. “See if you can make sure everything gets back to who it belongs to.” 

Then he was gone as quickly as he appeared, speeding back toward the window, he picked up Bruce as he went and flew off into the night. The whole ordeal couldn’t have lasted longer than five minutes, and yet Bruce felt like he’d gotten emotional whiplash. He’d never experienced anything like this before, and he was still processing the attack when he realized that Superman had taken Bruce all the way back to the manor. Superman slowed to land on the flat roof of one of the manor’s main buildings. He let Bruce go very suddenly, and Bruce stared at him with complete and utter awe. Superman, however, didn’t look quite as impressed as Bruce did.

“You’re my soulmate,” Bruce finally got out. Superman’s lips thinned.

“Yeah, I don’t think so, Mr. Wayne,” he said. Bruce felt the rebuff like a physical thing. His eyebrows twitched together in confusion; he felt like he’d been hit by a brick. 

“Wait, what?” He asked, utterly confused. Superman folded his arms across his chest, a defensive gesture if Bruce had ever seen one. 

“We can’t possibly be soulmates, Mr. Wayne, and even if we are it can’t mean anything,” he said. Bruce blinked rapidly. 

“What are you talking about?” He asked, barely managing to keep his voice from cracking. 

“Mr. Wayne, I’m more than aware of your personal exploits, and I have to say that I can’t ever see myself with someone like you. I'm a hero, a beacon of hope, I can't also be Bruce Wayne’s latest sexploit. You understand, right?”

Right. _Someone like you._ Bruce felt his heart constrict in his chest. Someone stupid and lonely like him. Someone careless with their money, wealthy and aimless, unimportant. Someone like Bruce. He swallowed hard.

“But those words, my words, do they mean nothing to you?” 

 _I’ve got you, you’re safe._ For so long Bruce had had nothing but those words to carry him through. Nothing but the guarantee that whoever his soulmate was cared about him, and would protect him, look out for him. He’d fallen in love with those beautiful, sweet words, and knew that whoever said them would have to mean them, because why else would they say them? Those words were powerful, they were perfect, and Bruce had spent so many years of his life living off of the power of those words alone.

“Of course they mean nothing, Mr. Wayne, I say them to everybody.” 

It was so profound a blow that Bruce physically flinched back. He couldn’t speak, he couldn’t defend himself or the words scrawled over his heart. It didn’t matter though, because Superman, his soulmate, began to hover, ready to leave. 

“Goodbye, Mr. Wayne.” And with such formality Superman was gone, speeding off into the night. Bruce sat down heavily, the rough texture of the rocky roof ruining his suit pants. He pulled his knees up into his chest, and felt his heart break to pieces. Tears welled at the corners of his eyes, and quickly they burst, falling slowly down his cheeks. Streaks of cleaned skin shone brightly against the dirt that had accumulated on his face. There was a darkening bruise across his cheek, a split in his lip, but none of it compared to the utter devastation in his heart. 

That was how Alfred found him an hour later, freezing in the cool fall air, tears long since dried, eyes and soul empty.

“Master Bruce! Thank goodness you’re here. I was beginning to worry, I-“ Alfred stopped suddenly as he got a good look at Bruce’s face, at the shaking of his hands and the dullness of his eyes.

“Master Bruce?” He asked, kneeling down to Bruce’s level. He put a hand on Bruce’s knee and squeezed.

“I met him Alfred, it’s Superman,” Bruce said to his knees. Alfred’s eyebrows creased. 

“Superman?” 

“He’s my soulmate Alfred, and he hates me,” Bruce choked on the words. He let loose and uncontrollable sob, and then he stopped, breathing deeply to pull himself together. Alfred sat down next to Bruce, without a single care to the state of his finely pressed suit, and pulled Bruce into his arms. Bruce was so larger than life to the people of their world that most of the time they forgot he was only nineteen. Nineteen and already hurting like this? It was appalling.

“I’m sure he doesn’t hate you, Master Bruce,” Alfred replied, his voice soothing away some of the pain in Bruce’s heart. 

“He told me he could never be with someone like me,” he muttered. He didn’t tell Alfred what Superman had said about the words. He couldn’t bring himself to. 

Alfred didn’t know what to say, how to respond to something as awful as that. What kind of man said that to his soulmate? Not a very good one, Alfred summarized. He began to believe at that moment, that Superman was nothing more than a man in tights playing at being god. He clutched Bruce tighter and kissed his hair. They were not usually prone to displays of affection like this, not since Bruce was little, but neither of them were going to say anything. 

“I have to leave, Alfred,” Bruce said suddenly. “I can’t be here anymore. This place is suffocating me. And now I have nothing left, nothing but you. It’s time for me to do something different.” 

“I am supremely glad to hear it, sir. This city is not good for you, not now. You need to heal before you can begin to live with it.” Alfred replied. Bruce nodded, finally settling down. Gotham was sick. It had been for a long time, and Bruce had been wasting away letting it be. It hurt everyone it touched. The robbery today had not been the first nor would it be the last. Bruce didn’t know what to do about it, but he knew he had to get away. Alfred was right, he had to heal. He had to get over the crushing blow of losing his soulmate before he ever had him, and he couldn’t do it here. Not this close to Metropolis. Bruce would go east, into Europe. First things first he would learn to fight, so that no one could throw him out a window again, so that no one would ever again save him and tell him he was safe with them. Bruce wasn’t safe with anyone but himself.

 

——

 

Five Years Later

When Bruce’s plane landed at the Gotham airport he was surprised by how relieved he felt to be home. He’d disappeared, gone straight off the map. No one in the world had known where he was, except Alfred. Everyone else thought he was dead. 

He’d gone east, like he’d planned, but he’d learned so much more than just to fight. He’d spent time at Universities all over the world, learning forensics, criminology, and a whole host of sciences. He’d mastered dozens of fighting techniques and as many languages as places he’d been. He knew how to use dozens of weapons, could fly a plane, pilot a boat. He’d learned to push himself to his limit, and then farther. He’d learned how to kill, and how to never go that far. He’d learned to be more than a man, and unconsciously, he’d learned to be a match for Superman. 

That day had haunted him for the last five years, no matter how much he tried to beat it out of his mind. He’d left a child, damaged beyond repair, and come back a man with the scars to prove he’d healed. 

Bruce stepped out of the plane, single suitcase in hand, and grinned at the sight of Alfred waiting on the tarmac. He stopped himself from running down the steps of the jet, but it was a close thing. 

“Alfred,” he sighed, grinning. 

“Master Bruce, might I just say that you look both incredibly awful, and the best I’ve ever seen you,” Alfred replied. Bruce laughed, the first time he’d laughed in years, and hugged Alfred tight, smiling all the while. They pulled apart, and Alfred led Bruce to the car. 

“So, status update, how’s the manor and the company?” Bruce asked. 

“The manor is as well looked after as always, I’ve made sure of it. The company I cannot say the same for. You have an extremely idiotic board of directors. Lucius Fox is doing what he can, but they’re slowly eating through the company stock. I’d advise you to take swift control if you can.”

Bruce nodded. “I will, I’ll go to the next board meeting, whenever that is.” He turned to look at Alfred. “And you, Alfred? How are you?” 

Alfred shrugged. 

“I can’t complain. It’s been lonely without you Master Bruce, but I’ve been fine.” 

Bruce smiled. “Good, I’m glad. Now, are we going back to the manor? Because I can honestly say I’ve never been more tired in my life.” 

Alfred only held back from rolling his eyes thanks to his professionalism. He opened the door and Bruce quickly stepped in. He hadn’t been lying to Alfred, he was bone tired, but he was also energized. He’d been planning while he was away, and it was finally time to put his plan into action. Gotham needed saving, that much had always been clear, and Bruce had spent his time learning how to save it. He would become a vigilante, someone outside the law to put away criminals before they could strike twice. No more falling out of windows, no more being saved by Superman. 

Speaking of Superman, it appeared that Alfred had stocked the car with newspapers detailing Superman’s latest exploits. He hadn’t needed to, as sneaky and underhanded as it was, because Bruce had been following the same stories since the day he left Gotham. He may never have Superman to himself, but they were connected, and he wasn’t about to let it go just because Superman had a poor opinion of him. Besides, Bruce was a changed man, not that he could admit that to the public. If he was going to make this vigilante thing work, he was going to have to draw as much suspicion away from himself as possible. The man who would go out at night was going to be dark, dangerous, stoic and closed off. That meant that Bruce Wayne had to be the exact opposite. He had to be loud and boisterous, just as much if not more so than when he’d been a teenager. He had to be the complete and total opposite of who Bruce really was, because in doing so he would become the last man anyone would ever expect to be a vigilante. Though, to be honest he was exhausted just thinking about it. The antics Bruce was already planning would fool everyone, including Superman. Which meant more long years without a soulmate, maybe even the rest of his life. Bruce sighed. He hadn’t even slept with anyone since he’d figured it out. He was loyal, if nothing else, not that Superman would ever know, or care. He couldn’t bring himself to do it, no matter how callously Superman had thrown him to the side. Superman, who even had a girlfriend or something now, if the papers were to be believed. He’d been photographed multiple times with one of the Daily Planet reporters, Lois Lane. They were even been photographed kissing two years ago. Bruce had seen that paper and had spent the next six months in the League of Assassins, getting the shit beat out of him to make the pain go away. He still had the scars. 

Bruce picked up the latest paper, yesterday’s, one he hadn’t gotten his hands on yet, and skimmed through the article. It appeared Superman had saved a building full of people after a gas main explosion. Bruce read through the article with rapt fascination, though he’d never admit it; he always did. 

They pulled up to the manor soon after that, and Alfred insisted on carrying Bruce’s suitcase up to his room. Bruce inhaled deeply once through the manor doors; it was good to be home. 

His room was just the same as he’d left it, and the first thing he did was divest himself of his ragged clothing, and take a long hot shower. He’d barely seen a shower in the last few years, much less one where the heat of the water burned the grime from your body, one where you came out of it blisteringly clean. He’d missed it.

Once finished he wiped the steam from the mirror and examined his body. His skin had pinked from the heat and the scrubbing, but he was glad to be clean again. His body was absolutely littered with scars. He’d managed to keep them away from his face, but every other inch of skin had something. There were faint whip marks across his back courtesy of the League. There were marks from being cut or stabbed, there was a gunshot wound just above his left hip, but even despite this, most of his scars were subtle enough not to cause alarm, and it wasn’t likely anyone was going to be looking at his hip when he wore suits all the time. 

Bruce ran his fingers through his hair. It was time for a trim. He shaved the beard off himself, and called Alfred up to deal with the hair. When they were finished Bruce had to admit that he looked somewhat respectable. He didn’t quite look like his father, but he was getting there. 

“Thank you Alfred,” he said. 

“Of course, sir.” 

Bruce ran his fingers through his newly shortened hair. It was styled perfectly. 

“So, when’s the next board meeting?” He asked.

“Tomorrow at nine, sir. Though putting the board meeting aside for a moment, you must realize that you’re returning from the dead. I know this sounds unfortunate, but you’re going to have to do a press conference or an interview of some kind.” 

“I’ve already figured that out.” Bruce waved him off. “I’ve called that Daily Planet reporter, the one with the Pulitzer, Lois Lane.” 

Alfred hummed, “That name sounds familiar.”

It should. Lois Lane was the woman who wrote most of Superman’s articles. Clark Kent wrote the rest, but Bruce had scheduled the interview with Lois because she was his competition. She might not know it, but Bruce was all too aware of that fact. He was the one who had Superman’s words etched into his skin, not her, and so he was scheduling the meeting with her to get a handle on what kind of woman she was, to see what exactly it was that Superman found so redeeming about her. More than that he also wanted to get more information on Superman. He didn’t know much about the man other than that he was dating Lois, and that he hated Bruce, which was unfortunate but not irredeemable. After all, Bruce wasn’t so fond of himself either. 

——

The board meeting the next day flew by. Bruce announced his continued existence, fired everyone who was pulling the company down, and made Lucious the new chairman. It was all done in a couple of hours with more dramatics than Bruce was really willing to admit to. He drove home weary but content. He was going to turn things around, without a doubt. He didn’t have a choice. This was his family’s company, his father’s legacy. He wouldn’t let it be squandered by a few bad eggs who had managed to slither their way to a powerful position after the vacuum of power was left by Bruce’s father. Bruce pulled into the garage and made his way quickly into the house. Lois Lane would be there any minute. He was nervous, surprisingly. He’d been nervous a lot in the beginning years of his ‘vacation,’ but not as much anymore. He’d largely gotten over any nerves he could have had, but this, facing down Superman’s arm candy, well, it was more than a little nerve wracking. 

He divested himself of his suit jacket and rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, his waistcoat tight around his stomach. He sat at his desk and let his head slip into his hands. He stared down at the mountain of work he had to do, most of it paperwork stating that yes he was still alive. He thought about getting some of it done, but before he could his eyes drifted shut and he fell asleep on his forearms. 

He was woken some time later by a cleared throat. He jerked up to see Alfred standing at the doorway, a prim looking Lois Lane standing stoically behind him. 

“Uh, come on in. Thanks, Alfred,” he said, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. 

Lois Lane sat down in front of him, and for a moment they were both silent, looking each other over. It was almost as if she knew that he was also a contender for her beloved Superman’s heart. She wore a power suit and had her hair, black as his own, pulled back into a severe but stylish looking bun. She was undeniably pretty, but Bruce thought pettily that he was much more attractive than she was.

“Mr. Wayne,” she said finally, holding out her hand for him to shake. He took it and shook twice, before the both of them snapped their hands back to their respective laps. 

“Ms. Lane,” he replied. 

“Do you mind if I record?” She asked, pulling out a tape recorder. Bruce shook his head. “Wonderful, so, I have a few questions, I’ll start with something simple, where have you been in the five years you were gone?” 

Bruce mulled over his response for a long moment before answering. “I was all over the world. I spent time in every country I could, mostly in Europe. I spent some time in South America as well, but the majority of my time was spent in Eastern Europe.” 

“What did you do in Eastern Europe?” Her eyes were sharp, calculating, they reminded Bruce a bit of a shark’s.

“All kinds of things. Volunteer work, mostly. I went to several different universities, took some business classes among other things. I picked up some languages while I was there as well.” 

She was starting to get annoyed, he could tell by the twitch of a frown at the corner of her lip. It wasn’t her fault, he wasn’t giving her much, but it wasn’t like he could. Though none of what he was saying was a lie, it was barely much of the truth either. 

“Right, and what do you plan to do about Wayne Enterprises now that you’re back?” 

“I’ve already begun to assess the quality of my employees and company output. I’ve assigned a new board chair, Lucius Fox. I’m going to be revamping R&D, and I’m also going to be spending much more time on the company. My father’s legacy has been squandered by the actions of some of Wayne Enterprises former employees, and I plan to revitalize it.”

She seemed interested now. Her eyes perked up and she leaned closer in her chair. 

“Former employees? You mean you’ve fired existing Wayne Enterprises employees?” 

He knew what she wanted him to say. She wanted him to confess to firing hard working Gotham citizens, so she can get some juicy piece on how awful Bruce Wayne still was. She wanted him to be terrible, and he found himself spitefully proud that that wasn’t the case.

“Yes, I replaced some department heads with existing workers that should have been promoted a long time ago. I also replaced many of the members of my board of directors with existing Wayne Enterprises employees, and of course Lucius Fox has replaced former chair Brian Tanga. A detailed report of all this will be made public once everything has been finalized.” 

To her credit, Lois didn’t look nearly as put out as Bruce had expected. In fact she almost looked impressed, almost. Bruce was silent for a moment. 

“May I ask you a question Ms. Lane, off the record?” He asked. She hesitated, but he’d given her a lot with the company gossip. She’d be the very first with that information, and she was also getting the first exclusive with a still living Bruce Wayne. She finally nodded.

“Sure,” she said, and paused the recorder. 

“Before I left Superman was just starting out, and now that I’ve come back it seems he’s sort of everywhere. I know you’ve met him, and are even in a relationship with him if the tabloids are to be believed, and I guess I was just wondering what he’s like, or, I guess, how to get in touch with him,” Bruce finished lamely. He should have practiced the question more, he knew, but once he finally got around to it, he didn’t know quite what to say.

“How to get in touch with him, Mr. Wayne?” Lois asked. 

“Yes, he saved me once, several years ago, and I wanted to thank him, since I never really got the chance to back then.”

She could see right through him, he knew it. She knew there was more to this than meets the eye, but perhaps she didn’t know how much more. She considered him for a long moment before replying. 

“Mr. Wayne, I’m going to be frank with you, I am very close with Superman, so much so that he told me about that night five years ago. I know you’re his soulmate. That’s why I took the interview. I wanted to see what you were like for myself.” 

Bruce felt his heart constrict in his chest. All these years of this rejection, and he still didn’t know how to feel. 

“And?” he asked quietly. 

“And I think that you’ve grown up. A lot. You’re better than you were, there’s no denying that, but I don’t know if it’s enough change to change his mind,” she said, almost sympathetic. Bruce swallowed hard, and pressed his lips together to keep them from trembling.

“I see,” he said. “If you don’t mind, I think the interview is over.” 

Lois nodded, easily accepting, and stood from her chair, taking her tape recorder with her. She began to walk out the door, and Bruce could feel a burning in the back of his eyes.

“Mr. Wayne.” She turned back, hand gripping the knob. 

“Yes?” He replied, voice as steady as he could make it. 

“You should know that Superman and I broke off our relationship years ago. Around two years ago, in fact.” With a small smile and a nod she was out the door and gone from Bruce’s life, but she’d left him with something, something he hadn’t felt in five years.

Hope. 

Bruce pushed back from his desk and headed over to one of the more secluded studies in the house. It held a single desk, three filled book shelves, an ugly bust, and an ornate looking grandfather clock. He opened the clock’s door and rotated the hands until the clock read 10:47. There was a soft click and the clock swung aside, revealing a long dark staircase. Bruce made his way down the stairs and into the secret cave hidden underneath Wayne Manor. He strolled along the cave, listening to the sound of the bats flittering up above, and the water dripping down from the stalagmites, until finally he stood in front of a massive set of computers and a clear case with a naked mannequin in it. Alfred stood to the side, opening a shipping container. 

“You’re costume has arrived, Master Bruce,” he said in greeting. Bruce smirked. 

“It’s not a costume, it’s a uniform,” he joked. Alfred raised an eyebrow.

“My mistake,” he smirked. Bruce rolled his eyes. 

“Thanks Alfred, want to help me sew it?” He asked. Up rose the other eyebrow, and Bruce laughed. 

“Guess that’s a no then.”

“I would dare say so Master Bruce.” 

Bruce went to the crate and looked inside. In between packing peanuts and straw lay the last piece of the puzzle. A mess of black fabric and kevlar. Bruce had been planning this for years, and finally he was ready. He had all the pieces, he’d sorted out Bruce Wayne’s life, and now it was time for something else. Now was the time of the Batman. 

——

The first day Batman roamed the streets of Gotham was just over two months after Bruce’s interview with Lois Lane. The first time Batman met Superman was six months after that. Bruce had interrupted an armed robbery, and was crouched behind the counter, taser in hand, when suddenly there was nothing but the sound of flesh pounding flesh, bodies hitting the floor, and then silence. Bruce peeked out from behind the desk and his breath caught in his throat. It was Superman. His soulmate. 

The asshole. Bruce stepped out from behind the desk but said nothing.

“Batman,” Superman said. It was hard to gauge his enthusiasm as he said it, his voice too neutral to be discernable. 

“Superman,” Bruce said, just as neutrally. Finally Superman cracked a smile.

“I’ve heard about you, but I haven’t really had time to come down and meet you. I wanted to tell you that I think we should ally ourselves together. There’s not really anyone else like us in the world, and so I think it’d probably be good if we could at least contact each other just in case,” he said. Bruce didn’t reply, more because he didn’t know what to say than anything else, not that Superman needed to know that. The silence quickly became awkward, and so Superman tried to fill it again.

“I mean, I have really great hearing so if you ever need me just say my name and I’ll be there. What about you, is there anyway I could get in touch with you?”

Bruce didn’t know what to say. The man who had been so rude to him before, who had broken his heart, now wanted to exchange vigilante phone numbers. Of course, he didn’t know Batman was Bruce, the cowl was lined with lead after all, but it still hurt. It hurt because Bruce didn’t know what he’d done to deserve the treatment he’d gotten. Obviously Superman wasn’t a bad guy, he was Superman after all, but something about Bruce rubbed him the wrong way, and now Bruce was alone, and more than a little bit bitter. 

So he walked right up to Superman, all the bitterness and rage swirling in his stomach, jabbed a finger into his chest, growled, “I work alone,” and fled the scene. He shot a batarang through the skylight of the jewelry store, propelled himself through the roof and ran all the way back to the manor. He was done for the night, completely frazzled by his encounter with Superman. He decided not to tell Alfred, and just left it alone. Besides, it wasn’t like he was going to see the guy all the often, not really, so there was no point in dwelling on it. He didn’t tell Alfred about the encounter, and really, there was no one else to keep the secret from. 

——

The next time they met was slightly more civil than the first time. They were on the track of the same cartel. Bruce had all the information he needed except for who the head of the cartel was. He had the second in command, all the direct underlings, and every pusher and peon the cartel had even thought of hiring. He had shipping dock numbers and dates, ledgers containing product amounts and costs, the only thing he didn’t have was the leader. 

In addition, the case had unfortunately spread from Gotham to Metropolis all the way to Star City, so there Bruce was, crouching on top of shipping crates at the Star City docks, watching for the cartel ship to arrive. The second in command, Victor Levos, was on the ship, the SS Harriet, and Bruce was going to interrogate him. It would be the first time Levos had been in the country in seven months. 

Bruce was so absorbed in his watching that he almost didn’t notice the breeze that signaled the arrival of Superman. He bit back a groan and turned sharply, startling Superman. 

“Was I unclear?” He asked. Superman’s eyebrows creased. 

“What?” 

“I work alone,” Bruce snapped, turning back to his watching. Superman ignored his brush off and hovered closer. 

“Will you put your damn feet on the actual ground?” 

Superman continued to hover. Bruce scoffed, and continued to watch. 

“So, you’re following Levos too?” Superman asked. Bruce didn’t answer, which appeared to be answer enough.

“Right, are you after the Jade Cartel too, then?” 

Again Bruce didn’t answer. Again this seemed to be enough. 

“Great, that means we can work together on this one,” Superman said decidedly. Bruce finally looked up from his binoculars and stared at Superman.

“What?” He asked, neutral tone hiding the utter horror he felt at that statement. Superman just shrugged, completely oblivious to Bruce’s inner turmoil.

“We’re both on the same case, it’ll go quicker if we work together. Then you can go back to Gotham, and I can go back to Metropolis, and the drugs these guys sell will stop going to playgrounds and high schools.” 

Bruce had no response for that, literally none. Damn Superman for making this so hard on him. Bruce grunted in assent, and went back to watching. Superman didn’t say anything, but he wore a satisfied smirk across his face. 

They sat in silence for a long while before finally Bruce saw the SS Harriet drift up to the dock and weigh anchor. Without a word to Superman he leaped down from the shipping crate he’d been holed up on, and flitted across the dock, edging ever closer to the ship. He hid behind one of the crates, and went to peek out, when a hand softly but sturdily gripped his arm and stopped him. Bruce whipped around, fully ready to snarl at Superman, but was stopped by a finger to Superman’s lips. 

“Why do that when I can see through this crate, and hear them perfectly?” He asked. Bruce’s lips thinned, but he didn’t argue. Superman turned to face the crate and stared straight at it. Bruce’s arm grew hot where Superman still held it. Neither of them pulled away.

“The crew is getting off, no Levos yet. Stuart Tannahill just got off though, I think he's third in command, which means Levos might not need to be on the ship after all.”

Bruce just held himself back from sighing. If Levos wasn’t on the ship that would mean weeks, maybe months more reconnaissance, and that was even if Levos decided to come back into the country at all. That was too much time for the drugs to continue to circulate through the city streets. Bruce had already begun to formulate new plans in his head, when Superman’s hand squeezed his arm lightly. 

“There he is, it’s Levos. He’s talking to Tannahill, and some other guy from the docks. They’re talking about a meeting with El Jefe. They’re not giving any details, just confirming. He’s coming this way,” Superman said, trailing off. Bruce ripped himself out of Superman’s grasp and turned, positioning himself to be ready. Superman tracked Levos with his eyes, until he was right in front of the crate. 

“He has one guard,” Superman whispered, right before Levos and the guard came around the corner. Immediately Bruce jumped on the guard, knocking the gun out of his hand, and twisting up onto his back, knocking his head forward into the crate. Superman held one iron hand over Levos’ mouth, and held him tight, thick solid arms holding him still with barely any effort. Once the guard was out, Bruce turned around and used a chloroform rag from his utility belt on Levos, knocking him out like a light. Superman threw the unconscious man over his shoulder, and off they went back up the mountain of shipping crates until finally Bruce stopped at one. 

“Here,” he said, pulling open a previously locked Wayne Enterprises crate. He saw Superman glance at the name and say nothing. 

Superman glided in, and placed Levos down on the chair Bruce had already set up in the center of the container. Bruce then proceeded to pin Levos’ hands and feet down with zip ties. He pulled a needle out of his utility belt, and went to stab Levos in the arm in it, but Superman caught his hand before he could.

“Wait, what is that?” He asked.

“Relax,” Bruce growled. “It’s adrenaline.” 

Superman backed away, but was obviously still distrustful, hovering over Bruce’s shoulder and watching him like a hawk, making sure nothing went wrong. Bruce was more than a little insulted. It didn’t help that he was already mad at Superman for being there in the first place.

Once the adrenaline had been pumped into Levos’ veins, they only had to wait a few moments for it to work. In less than a minute’s time Levos jerked awake. He jumped forward, only to be forced back by the zip ties. Bruce glared down at him, furious gaze unwavering. 

“Who is your boss?” He asked, calm as you please. Levos looked up at him from under his brow, and snorted.

“Great, now there’s two nut jobs in capes running around? Please,” he scoffed, “ask me again.”

Bruce didn’t need to be told twice. In the blink of an eye he was in Levos’ face.

“Who is your boss?” he roared. Levos screamed and reared back. Bruce heard Superman move forward, probably about to stop him, when Levos suddenly began to speak.

“H-his name’s Jeffery Holland,” Levos said. Bruce barely held back a grin. Holland was a well known business man in Gotham. Bruce personally had never had any dealings with him, Holland was a little low brow for Bruce's caliber and was mostly known for his string of laundromats and supply stores. Nothing exciting, but then again that may have been the point. Nevertheless he had a very recognizable face, and would be very easy to identify. Bruce marveled at how easily Levos had caved. Gotham’s criminals weren’t used to him yet. They still feared him as the unknown entity he was. Bruce was not excited for the day when that would cease to be true. 

“Where is he?” Bruce growled, low. Levos trembled and looked away. 

“Where is he?” Bruce snarled, his voice gradually raising in volume and lowering in pitch. Levos yelped and closed his eyes.

“F-four hundred and fifth, in Gotham. It’s an laundromat, b-but it’s just a front,” he stuttered out. Bruce shoved the chair away, sending Levos crashing to the floor, the rickety chair smashing from the impact. If Levos had tried even a little he would have realized how easy it was to break out of the chair, but second in commands’ were never that smart. That was for the leaders. Bruce stalked out, leaving Levos to struggle out of the bonds. 

“Come on, four hundred and fifth. We need to get there before Levos gets out and tells somebody we’re coming,” Bruce said, paying no mind to the man in the red and blue unitard following him with an aghast look on his face. 

“Batman, that was intense, I don’t know if-“

Bruce whirled around. “Weren’t you the one who was just talking about all the poor little children these douchebags are selling to? What, I yell at a guy and suddenly things are a little too dark for you? If that’s the case, then go home, Superman. I don’t need your help anyway.” Bruce turned and began to stalk off back toward the Batmobile, but was stopped when Superman floated down in front of him, and held up a hand. Despite how angry Bruce was, he wasn’t stupid. He knew that Superman could stop him with a pinky, much less his whole hand. 

“Look, you’re right. I’m sorry, I’m just not used to doing things this way.” He licked his lips. “The fastest way to Gotham is flying. You go back in the car and they’ll know we’re coming, but if you let me carry you-“

“No way,” Bruce said vehemently. In no way was he ready to touch Superman, to let Superman touch him. To carry him again like he had when he’d saved Bruce’s life then told him he meant nothing to him. 

“It’s the fastest way Batman,” Superman smirked. “Think of the children.” 

Bruce glared sharply at him, but he couldn’t argue, not when he’d just used the same logic to get Superman to bend to his own will. 

“Fine,” he grumbled. In the blink of an eye he was swept up in two massive arms, and they began to ascend into the atmosphere.

“Hold on tight, oh, and close your eyes, and try to keep your face pointed toward me, we’re going to go a little fast, and the wind will tear up your eyes,” Superman advised. Bruce nodded and did as he was told. He shut his eyes against the sky and pressed his face against Superman’s chest, and away they went. 

Bruce wrapped his arms around Superman’s neck and held on as tightly as he could. Despite how angry he was at this man, it was nice to know that he would never have to worry while he was with him. He was always safe with Superman. The thought made Bruce’s heart stutter. His words had had him believing all his life that there was someone out there who wanted to keep Bruce safe above all else, but in the end, that was nothing but a twisted version of the truth. Superman would keep him safe because he kept everybody safe. He’d said that to Bruce because he’d said it to everybody else. 

Bruce forced himself to keep calm. He wasn’t nineteen anymore, he didn’t need some big hero to come swooping in to save the day, Bruce could do that for himself. He was more than capable. He was his own hero now; he didn’t need Superman. 

They flew quickly and efficiently and though Bruce was loathe to admit it, it was actually faster than taking the Batmobile ever could have been. They made it to Gotham in under five minutes, which wasn't near enough time for Levos to make it out of his bonds and radio Holland that they were coming. 

Superman set Bruce down on the roof of the laundromat, before settling his feet firmly on the ground. Bruce picked the lock on the roof access door and crept inside, Superman following soundlessly at his heels. The first floor of the laundromat was nothing special, just apartments, most of which were empty, and those of which were not were confirmed by Superman to be housing no one threatening. They made their way down the stairs to the second floor, which was markedly more interesting. There was a large locked conference room, and several offices. 

"Scan the conference room first, then we'll check the offices," Bruce whispered. Superman nodded, and scanned the room. He raised an eyebrow at what was inside.

"There's a couple of security guards, a lot of guns, and a couple bags of what looks like the same drug the cartel sells," Superman said, squinting at the wall. Bruce nodded.

"Good, that means that Levos wasn't lying, and this place really is a front. Now let's see if he was lying about Jeffery Holland."

They continued on down the hallway, and Superman scanned every room they passed. Finally he stopped at one of the offices, and tossed Bruce a grin. 

"Holland's in there, and he's surrounded by product."

Bruce barely kept the triumphant smile off of his face. Superman looked back at the wall and his eyebrows ceased. He stepped closer to the wall and his eyes widened. He burst through the door without saying a thing to Bruce and ripped Holland away from... a girl? There was a girl in the room dressed in rags whom Holland had been holding a gun to. Bruce looked around, and realized immediately what had happened. Holland was indeed surrounded by three bags of product, two of which were packed full, and one of which was looser than the rest, it had obviously been skimmed from, and Bruce would bet his company that Holland thought it was the girl in front of them who had done it. 

Superman pulled Holland off of the girl, and held him against the wall.

"What the hell are you doing?" Holland shouted. "She's the one who stole! She's the one who's high!" 

Superman snarled in Holland's face, and Bruce was honestly shocked to hear it. Superman had been nothing but the Boy Scout he publicly claimed to be since Bruce had been working with him, but seeing him now, angry and unrelenting, reminded Bruce of that night five years ago. He still couldn't see how a man this passionate could be that dismissive, but that was a question for another time. For now Bruce simply rushed over to the girl and kneeled down next to her to examine her face. Her pupils were so dilated there was nothing but a thin ring of brown around the black. She wasn't even looking at Bruce despite the fact that he was standing right in front of her. It was like she couldn't focus on his face.

"She's definitely high," he sighed out. Superman scowled down at him, but said nothing. Bruce just handed him zip ties and he tied Holland's hands and feet together. Bruce stood up and examine the girl more closely. She was completely out of it, and she probably needed a hospital. 

"You should take her to Gotham General. I'll call the cops, don't worry. Then you can take me back to Star City so I can go get my car," Bruce said, glancing at Superman, who merely nodded before picking up the girl and speeding off faster that Bruce could blink. Bruce pulled out his phone and dialed the hotline to give an anonymous tip. The cops knew about him by now and they were far from his biggest fans. If he called them himself they probably wouldn't show up out of spite. The only one who ever seemed to listen to him was Officer Gordon, but for something this big, he didn't want to risk Gordon coming alone like he had last time. With the cops called, Bruce made his way back up to the roof to wait for Superman. He couldn't believe that he was relying so heavily on Superman when he'd tried so hard to stay as far away from him as possible

Bruce sat on the edge of building out of sight of the street and stared out over the Gotham City skyline. He'd been back for nearly a year and so little had changed, but the point was that it had changed. Bruce had done good, and he was proud of himself. He knew Alfred worried, and more often than not he woke up to breakfast and the Daily Planet instead of the Gotham Gazette. Alfred worried that Bruce was neglecting his emotional needs, but Bruce didn't much care about those. He never really had if he was being honest. His whole life had been a mess of emotional needs, but he'd let it hinder him for far too long, and he was doing good now, so he wasn't too worried about it. 

He heard the flutter of the cape that signaled Superman's return, and so he stood and turned. Superman looked worn down, but he didn't look the kind of devastated that Bruce guessed he'd look if someone had died on his watch. 

"She ok?" Bruce asked. Superman nodded.

"For now. They're pumping her stomach and giving her Narcan, so I guess we just hope for the best," he replied. Bruce nodded, and turned slightly at the sound of sirens. 

"Time to go," he said. Superman nodded and picked Bruce up bridal style, and again they were off. They flew through the clouds, Bruce's face once again pressed into Superman's chest to stave off the wind. Superman landed right in front of Bruce's car, though Bruce hadn't told him where it was. Bruce practically leapt out of his arms and headed toward his car without a word.

"Batman?" Superman called, stopping him. Bruce sighed, but turned.

"Yes?" He asked.

Superman seemed to hesitate before the look in his eyes became steely and determined. 

"Is there a reason you're so opposed to my help?" He asked. Bruce thought carefully about his answer, or he tried to at least. He was too hurt to be doing any rational thinking at the moment, and so his answer was just as vindictive as he'd hoped to never be.

"It's not your help I'm opposed to," Bruce said. "It's you." 

Superman's face seemed to crumble right before his eyes, and though Bruce felt the slightest niggling of guilt, but more than that he idly wondered if that was what his face had looked like five years ago. He turned without another word, got into the Batmobile, and sped away.

\----

Bruce discovered that he might have made a mistake in telling Superman that he was the problem, because after that day Bruce found himself seeing Superman at least twice a week. Sometimes he would help Bruce work on cases, sometimes he would give Bruce cases that had started in Metropolis, but had spread to Gotham. Whatever the case, it appeared that Superman was trying to make up for some imagined wrong he'd come up with. He didn't know the real reason Bruce was mad, there was no way for him _to_ know since Bruce had never told him, and there was no way he could have ever made the connection, not with the work Bruce was putting in to prevent that very thing from happening. 

Nevertheless, he was starting to drive Bruce a little bit crazy. He showed up so often that Bruce began to wonder if he was even working in Metropolis anymore.

The last straw was when Bruce had swooped down to stop an attempted mugging, it was a slow night, and Superman came out of nowhere and took out the mugger with barely any effort. Bruce silently seethed, and once the poor victim had left with her purse held securely to her chest, he exploded. 

"What the hell?" Bruce snapped. Superman staggered back in surprise. "What am I not good enough to handle a fucking mugging anymore?" 

Superman gaped for a moment before pulling himself together.

"No, I just-"

"Just what? Don't trust me to give an old lady her purse back?" Bruce growled. He was beyond pissed, and what made it worse was that Superman actually seemed shocked to see it. 

"Look, Batman, you don't like me, that much I understand. I just don't understand why, and I've been trying to understand and make up for it at the same time, and that's really hard to do when you don't know what you actually did wrong," Superman tried.

"I don't understand why you're trying at all, it's not like we're even friends," Bruce reasoned. "We're allies, and allies don't need to make sure each other's feelings aren't hurt, they just need to fight together, and we do, but we don't need to all the time!"

Superman sighed. "Look, you're the only other person in the world like me. Someone who fights like we do, and I like you, and I want to be your friend, and it's hard to do that when I don't know why you're mad at me."

Bruce thought that if he hadn't had the cowl on he'd be pulling his hair out.

"You are completely impossible," he snapped, defeated. Superman quirked an eyebrow.

"What do you mean?"

"Fine, you want to know why I'm mad?" Bruce asked. His heart pounded in his chest, butterflies flooded his stomach. He couldn't believe he was actually going to do this.

"Yes," Superman replied vehemently. Bruce ripped off his cowl.

"Because your words are written across my heart, and you spat them back at me and said they meant nothing," he snarled. His eyes were red even though he wasn't crying. His legs felt like jell-o, and he wanted nothing more than to disappear into the night, but the look of abject horror on Superman's face stopped him. 

"What? I don't understand," Superman muttered, eyes wide. Bruce rolled his eyes hard.

"What don't you get, I'm Bruce Wayne, and five years ago you broke my heart and turned me into this, so thank you Superman, I couldn't have done it without you." Bruce spun on his heel and stormed off. He fired a grappling hook up to the nearest building, and shot straight up. He hopped between buildings, not stopping until he'd reached the manor. He thundered into the Batcave and sat heavily on the floor by the computer. He rubbed his hands across his face and sighed. 

"What the hell did I just do?" He muttered, eyes on the bats nesting on the roof of the cave. He didn't know how long he sat down there, but when Alfred finally appeared to bring him breakfast the sun had long since risen, and it was morning. 

"Master Bruce, may I ask why you're sitting on the floor?" He asked, setting Bruce’s breakfast tray down. Bruce chewed on his lower lip.

"I told him. He said he wanted to be Batman's friend, and I couldn't stand it anymore. The kindness," he scoffed. "Like he could ever be kind."

Alfred sat down silently next to him. 

"I beg to differ, sir. I believe Superman to be an incredibly kind person. He is, after all, Superman. However that does not excuse his behavior all those years ago. He was unnecessarily cruel, and he rejected you based solely on your reputation, and without even giving you a chance. However, that does not mean you should do the same."

Bruce sighed. Leave it to Alfred to make sense when it was impossible to. Bruce knew he was right. He should give Superman a chance, no matter how hurt he was. Bruce had been trying to make himself a better person, which meant he had to try even when it hurt, even when it was easier not to. He'd give Superman a chance, but just one. If he screwed up again than that was it, Bruce was done trying. 

\----

When they made their way upstairs, Bruce heard the doorbell ring. He glanced at Alfred, who went to answer without a word. He pulled open the door to reveal the reporter, Clark Kent. Bruce's eyebrows drew together in confusion. He hadn't seen Clark in nearly six years, and he definitely hadn't scheduled an interview with him. 

"Mr. Kent?" Alfred asked. Clark shuffled around nervously.

"Is Bruce there?" He asked. Now Bruce was even more confused. Alfred glanced back at Bruce, who nodded his ascent, and then he opened the door wider, allowing Clark to walk in.

"Come in Mr. Kent," Alfred said. Clark walked in, obviously nervous. As soon as the door shut behind him, he turned to Bruce and his entire demeanor changed. So much so that it was almost like Bruce was looking at a different person. He stood to his full height, back curling up to reveal several more inches. His new posture revealed a massive chest and thick corded arms. He removed his glasses, and began to unbutton his shirt. Bruce looked at him strangely, but it all became clear when Clark pulled his shirt apart. Sitting there underneath the button up plaid was the red and blue S, displayed proudly on what could only be Superman's suit. Bruce's jaw dropped. He was completely and truly speechless. He reached forward, almost touching the emblem before he snatched his hand back, unsure. 

"You're...." he trailed off, unable to complete the sentence. Clark, Superman, smiled ruefully.

"I think we should talk. Is there anywhere we can go?" He asked. Bruce nodded numbly and turned before heading unconsciously toward the secluded study that also functioned as the entrance to the Batcave. It wasn’t until they were both inside the study that Bruce realized that Alfred hadn't followed them. Bruce closed the door soundly and turned to look at Clark. 

"Ok, what the hell?" He asked, completely befuddled. Clark smiled wider. 

"I'm Superman. I've always been, even five years ago."

"How did you even..." Bruce didn't even know what he wanted to ask.

"I'm an alien. I was born on the planet Krypton, and my shipped crashed here when I was a baby. My parents, the Kent’s, they took me in and raised me. I didn’t get my powers until I was in high school. The radiation from Earth's sun is different from Krypton's; it's what gives my my powers."

Bruce held up a hand to stop him. He was having a difficult time processing all of this at once. His soulmate was Superman. Superman was Clark Kent. Clark Kent was an alien. 

"Ok, gotcha, alien, makes sense. I just have one question, no that’s not true, I have many, _many_ questions, but only one matters right now," he said. Clark nodded. His eyes were just so incredibly kind that Bruce barely felt nervous asking. 

"What did I do five years ago to make you hate me so much that you just rejected me without a second thought?"

Clark bit his lip. He had the decency to look ashamed.

"It was a long time ago, I was young-"

"So was I. I was only nineteen," Bruce cut him off. He wasn't going to let Clark get away with any bullshit answers. Bruce had been damaged by that encounter, more than he'd like to admit, and he was sure as hell going to make Clark answer for it. Clark sighed.

"I know, that's just an excuse. The truth is that I was a worse person five years ago than I am now. I was just out of college, riding high on my success in my job and becoming Earth's one and only hero. I was a dick, there’s no getting around that, and it wasn’t just to you. I got out of touch with some of my friends from Smallville, my home town, because I thought I was too good for them. I couldn’t have been more wrong,” he said fiercely. “There was also some stuff with my dad, my alien one and my real one, but that's complicated and unnecessary now. Mostly it was because I was dating Lois. I'd been in love with her for years and she'd finally agreed to go out with me, and I didn't want anyone else, and you, you were the complete opposite of her."

Bruce tried not to be hurt by the implications of that, but he didn't succeed. If he was being honest, he wasn't even trying that hard.

"You had such a terrible reputation, and right before then we'd gotten into that argument about the quote at the gala, and-"

"Wait." Bruce held up a hand to stop Clark from talking. "You're telling me that the whole reason you didn't want to even look at me twice was because you had a girlfriend and I’d yelled at you once?" He asked, voice dangerously low. 

"No, I mean, yes, but-" Clark fumbled his words, and Bruce shook his head.

"I can't believe you. The amazing Superman. The All-American hero. _The_ hero. Turned down his soulmate because he had a girlfriend and a bad day. Wow. I don't know how I ever looked up to you," Bruce said, looking away toward the door, ready to leave. Clark could get there before him though, even if Bruce was closer, but he probably wouldn't try to stop him if he knew Bruce was livid enough. 

"Wait, Bruce, stop, hold on a second," Clark said, grabbing his arm.

"What? What else is there to talk about?" He asked desperately, tired and hurt. 

"The now," Clark said.

"What?"

"You heard me, the now. Bruce I was an ass five years ago, but it's been five years. I've changed. You don't believe me?" He asked at Bruce's hesitant stance. "Just look at yourself? How much have you changed in the last five years? Is it so impossible to imagine somebody else could have changed too?"

Bruce was still hesitant, but he thought about what Alfred had said, and nodded. 

"Go on," he said. Clark seemed to solidify in front of Bruce's eyes. He swelled with confidence.

"We're both different, and honestly, you impress me Bruce. More than that you make he see how stupid I was. I ignored you because I was working off of false assumptions and idiocy. I thought Lois was it for me, and I was threatened by you, but you know what? Lois wasn't it for me, that barely lasted three years before we just couldn't take each other anymore. And all the while that was ending I kept looking you up, trying to find you, make it up to you, but you had just disappeared, like a ghost. Even when Bruce Wayne came back from the dead you were so unpredictable that I couldn't figure out where'd you'd be any given day to talk to you. And then..." he trailed off, biting his lip. "And then I fell in love with Batman, and Bruce Wayne didn't matter anymore. I felt like shit for that, believe me, but Batman was just so incredible. He matched me, and he was _human_. It wasn’t like with Lois, where all I could see was what we could be, with Batman I could see what we were. Batman was incredible, brilliant beyond measure. Smarter and more fearless than anyone I’d ever met. He didn't take any nonsense, and he was brilliant. He was completely and utterly perfect, and he really seemed to hate me. Which, if I'm being honest, somehow always ends up being a thing for me," Clark said with a self deprecating laugh. Bruce stared at him, wide eyed.

"You love Batman?" He asked, stepping closer. Clark smiled softly.

"I love _you_ , Bruce."

Bruce bit his lip, and looked away. He couldn't forgive Clark, Superman, whatever. Not after everything. Not after those horrible words. 

"Tell me they mean something," Bruce said quietly, his back to Clark.

"What?"

"The words you threw back in my face, the words I've had tattooed on my heart all my life, tell me that they meant something," Bruce said, insecurity leaking into his voice. He cursed himself, he wasn't supposed to be this anymore. He was Batman now. 

Clark didn't even hesitate.

"They mean everything," he said.

Bruce held himself back just long enough to be respectable before he launched himself at Clark, wrapping his arms around Clark's neck and pulling him in for a tight hug. He was still terrified, still angry and hurt, but he could see the start of something new now. Something that could maybe become all that they were destined to become.

"You are such an asshole," Bruce sighed. Clark held Bruce still in the fierce embrace, and Bruce hid his face in Clark's neck. 

“What? No I love you back?” Clark asked. 

“Not there yet,” Bruce replied, shutting his eyes tight. His whole world was readjusting itself. It had been such a long twelve hours. He didn't know what to think of Clark; not really. They didn't know each other as Batman and Superman, and Bruce didn't know Clark Kent at all. He only knew Superman, and just as he himself was a mix of Batman and Bruce Wayne, he was sure that Clark was a mix of Clark Kent and Superman, and he couldn't help but wonder how much of each person had made it into the mix that completed Clark Kent. The Clark standing before him was strong, he stood tall like Superman, but he didn't have glasses. He did, however, write the way that Clark Kent did, that much was impossible to fake. There was a talent in that writing that was impossible to fake. Clark was talented, he was brilliant, and he was a reporter. Bruce thought it was the funniest thing, a vigilante who doubled as a reporter. Usually those two kinds of people didn't mix, Bruce himself was proof of that. 

Nevertheless Clark was here now, and he was promising. Bruce didn't know where this would go, or even if he completely trusted Clark, but this was a nice starting point, a nice second chance. 

“That’s ok, we’ll get there,” Clark smiled softly. 

Bruce broke away from the hug with a snort. 

"We still have a long way to go, you especially. You have five years to make up for, and budding in on my nighttime activities isn't helping your case. Batman and Superman can work together, but you have to respect the fact that Gotham is mine, she's my city to protect, and I don't want you here unless I invite you here, understand?" Bruce wanted to get this one out of the way first. It was important to him that he stood on his own as a vigilante without Superman backing him. It was what he'd wanted for years, to be able to stand up to the scum of Gotham on his own, and be the one doing the protecting for a change. No more bloody pearls falling down around his ears, no more being thrown through a window like a damsel. Bruce Wayne was something more than that now, he was something all his own. He was Batman.

Clark nodded, "I understand. I won't encroach on your space anymore. Just, promise to invite me around from time to time, I'd like to get to know you better."

Bruce flushed, but nodded.

"Good, so what now?" Clark asked, eyebrow's creasing.

"What do you mean what now?"

"I mean does Bruce Wayne love Superman? Clark Kent? Does Clark Kent love Batman? How is this even going to work?" He asked. Bruce was silent for a long moment. He'd been thinking about it, and truly there was no practical answer thanks to Bruce Wayne's fame, and the secrecy surrounding Batman and Superman. He figured the easiest thing to do was not mention it to the public, but Bruce was sure Clark wouldn't like that answer. 

"What do you want to do?" Clark asked, leaving the decision up to Bruce. Bruce was more moved by that than he was willing to admit. He was silent for a long moment. He knew what the answer was, what it had to be, but he didn't know whether or not Clark would like it, would be okay with it. He wouldn't admit it to anyone, but this was a test, a test to see if Clark really was the man he claimed to be, or if he just wanted the wealth and the fame that came with being Bruce Wayne's partner.

"I don't think we should tell anyone," he said. He could see the wariness in Clark's eyes, so Bruce proceeded with cautious curiosity, "It's too new. I don't even really know you. We should see where this goes first, and leave the burden of the paparazzi for after its stronger."

After a long moment Clark nodded, determined to redeem himself in Bruce’s eyes, "Makes sense."

It was safe to say that Bruce was relieved. He'd hate to have both his first and second interaction with his soulmate to end in an argument.

"Thank you," Bruce said sincerely. "Well if you aren't doing anything right now, Alfred makes an incredible roast."

Clark quirked a smile.

"I'd love to try it," he nodded. "Oh, and whenever you're ready, I already have an idea for our first date."

Bruce refused to acknowledge his blush.

"We're not dating."

"Ok, then as a not-date then. There's a circus coming to down, Hayley's I think it's called. Supposedly they've got a really incredible trapeze act; I've always wanted to see it."

Bruce drew his eyebrows together, considering. "Trapeze, huh? Sounds like fun."

**Author's Note:**

> I've always wanted to write a soulmate AU, it's kind of one of my favorite au's. Let me know what you guys thought!


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